


Laugh at this clumsy boy who loves you

by DreamingOfABetterYou



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Light Angst, Like oh my God I can't, M/M, Pining Arthur, Post-Inception, so it's all good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 05:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18804346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingOfABetterYou/pseuds/DreamingOfABetterYou
Summary: Arthur has a proposition to make.“Are you telling me we should spend the rest of our lives together?”“I’m not telling you anything” Arthur sighed, “I’m asking you to.”





	Laugh at this clumsy boy who loves you

**Author's Note:**

> Hello darlings! It's been...a while. Like, whoa. But don't even think I haven't cried about Arthur/Eames multiple times while I was gone.
> 
> One of my dearest friends Yvi got into the gorgeous hell that is Arthur/Eames because of me so I feel like it's only fair to dedicate this to her ♡
> 
> Title taken from the poem "Your laughter" by Pablo Neruda.

It was just another job, just another few months of working with Eames.  
Just trying not to let his eyes follow the forger everywhere he went, just trying not to imagine what could happen if Arthur were a bit braver. (If he had actually walked up to the bar that time in Milan, for instance, when he saw Eames sitting there on his own nursing a cheap beer like they hadn’t just made six figures each with their most recent job. Instead he stayed in his corner booth, tucked away, and watching person after person flirt with Eames, chipping away at his armour, until the forger left around three in the morning with that dark-haired idiot in the ill-fitting suit.  
Arthur had gotten hilariously wasted after that and didn’t remember actually coming home that night.)  


Just pretending not to notice the way Eames flirted with the waitress at the restaurant where Arthur also happened to be – he wasn’t stalking Eames, seriously. Life just had a knack with ruining Arthur’s mental well-being.  
Just clenching his jaw when he saw the marks on Eames’ collarbone the next day when his shirt shifted, and not saying something idiotic like “that should have been me, you know”.  
Just another job. No problem whatsoever.

“What’s wrong, darling? You look murderous.”  
Arthur flinched as Eames’ voice dragged him back into reality. Right. Airport. Luggage belt. Eames. Right.  
“Do you know how long we’ve known each other?” he asks, aiming for neutral but possibly failing spectacularly. Eames frowned, but his lips still twitched into the shadow of a smile. Arthur had to ball his fist so he wouldn’t do anything stupid like reach out and brush that bottom lip with his fingertip, like he had wanted to do for years.  
“Oh, it’s been ages. Since you shoved me out that window in Beijing. I’d say that was, what, eleven years ago now?”  
Arthur couldn’t help himself; he smiled a bit at the memory. It was a good one. “It was for our cover, and you know that. But that’s not the point” he added distractedly, eyes still scanning the masses of tourists for any sign of trouble. Point man. Not an easy thing to turn off sometimes.  
“Then what is?” Eames asked, almost sounding concerned.

Arthur sighed, swallowed, then turned to face the other man properly. “Eames…I am too young to let this go.” He wasn’t really _that_ young, by anybody’s standards, he was going to hit forty in two years, but still… “Whatever this is – whatever this _could be_ – with you and me, I don’t want it to just fade. I don’t want to regret not taking a chance” he ended quietly, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.  
For better or for worse, Eames didn’t react right away. _At least he’s not laughing_ , Arthur’s brain very unhelpfully offered, as if that was something to be proud of. The forger opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again to speak. “I don’t understand.”

As declarations went, this was – one had to say it – substandard.

“I’m not ready to end up by myself” Arthur replied, hating himself a bit for being honest. He sounded pathetic. A pathetic old man who couldn’t leave fate alone. If they hadn’t happened the last eleven years that they had known each other, maybe it was for the best? Maybe… “Not when you’re still here, and there’s even the slightest chance we would work. If you want me.”  
“Are you telling me we should spend the rest of our lives together?” Eames didn’t sound disgusted, per se, but he didn’t sound overjoyed to Arthur’s ears either.  
“I’m not telling you anything” Arthur sighed, “I’m asking you to.”

“Arthur –” the forger started, and wasn’t that great. Eames never called him Arthur. It was always darling, or dear, or some other ridiculous pet name, and if it featured heavily in Arthur’s deepest fantasies to have it mumbled over a cup of coffee in the morning, when both of them were still too wrapped up in sleep, real sleep, to talk properly…well if it did, it was nobody’s business.  
A man could dream, even if it hurt like hell sometimes.

“I saw what waiting can do to a man, Eames. I’ve spent years of my life running away with Cobb, and then another few years running away from my feelings for you. I’m tired of running, Eames. Aren’t you?” He sounded exhausted to his own ears, and barely caught himself before he could reach out to Eames. Touching him, after all this time of keeping to himself, would be pure ecstasy.  
Eames smiled wrily, but the way he ducked his head a bit almost screamed uncomfortable. “I’ve never had much patience, anyway. You know that” he mumbled with a chuckle.

“I do” Arthur muttered, wishing it was a different context. “So…If you don’t want me just don’t say anything, don’t do anything. We’ll just stand here, get our luggage and never talk about this ever again. Ever. But if you want to try this…I would love for you to finally be mine, after all these years.” It had been over a decade of finding and losing and finding again, of seeing Eames on his own, with men, with women, but never with Arthur. Maybe asking for this was flying too close to the sun, but Arthur couldn’t help himself.

“You’re making quite the proposal” Eames stated almost timidly after a few seconds of silence.  
“Not yet. Not quite yet.”  
“Hm.” Arthur almost wished he had never even brought it up. That he could just grab his suitcase and leave, go back to his place, and try not to think about the forger. That he could just be normal. Do what he always did.  
“Don’t spare my feelings, just be honest” he said, taking a deep breath, even while his inside screamed spare my feelings, _please, I can’t take it. Please. Just…please. Love me back. God._  
“You know my job literally consists of lying and stealing, right?” Eames retorted, a wicked grin on his face. Despite everything, Arthur couldn’t help but smile in return, at least a bit.  
“I know that. But I also know you’re more than that.”  
“Am I?” The surprise in Eames’ voice wasn’t feigned, Arthur could tell, and it broke his heart a bit.  
“You are” he blurted, idiotically. _Let me show you how good you are without even knowing it._

Eames just nodded slowly, blowing an acknowledging breath through his nose, but he didn't say anything after that.  
_Well, you’ve done it now. Well fucking done, Arthur._

He couldn’t very well leave without it being weird – and he really did need the things in his suitcase – so he just…stood there. Next to the man who had broken his heart. Yet again. And Arthur couldn’t even really blame him.

He saw his suitcase roll in on the conveyor belt, and of course Eames’ was right behind his, because the universe loved to taunt him. Arthur straightened up, tugged on his suit jacket unnecessarily, and had just about prepared to look into Eames’s eyes and say “Well, I will see you for the job in Auckland”, when he felt something stroke against his right pinky finger, then hook around it gently.  
He turned his head to see the other man looking back at him already, hesitation in his beautiful eyes.  


„Let’s go home“ Eames spoke quietly, carefully, like the words were made of glass and he was afraid of breaking them in his mouth.  
Arthur flipped his hand over so he could tangle his fingers with Eames’, pressing their palms together and pretending like it didn’t steal his breath.  


“Yeah. Let’s.”


End file.
